


In a State

by knowledgekid



Series: Strung Out in Heaven's High [1]
Category: The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: Angst, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Excessive Drinking, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Multi, Recreational Drug Use, at least it's not quentin singing, before the Beast, eliot singing, no really they use a lot of drugs, previous queliot, well at least Eliot does
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-16 17:06:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16958067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knowledgekid/pseuds/knowledgekid
Summary: Set before the Beast and the trip to Fillory. Eliot's out of coke and convinces Margo to go with him to get more. She reluctantly agrees, and everything spirals downward from there.





	1. Through the Black City

**Author's Note:**

> Drug abuse is never pretty, especially when it's one of your best friends. It's also seldom quiet.

You can’t just magic up some coke, and this Thursday night, Eliot is on the last of his stash. He tells Margo they’re going to the club, and she knows the one he means: 709, the magicians’ dance club in Manhattan that attracts a fair bit of Muggles. Muggles, usually, with drugs. 

“Do we have to, El?” she asks. “I have this test —”

He snorts. “Since when did you let academics stand in the way of a good time, Bambi?” 

They’re in his room. He’s already got clothes thrown over every available surface, vests and slacks and now-wrinkled dress shirts. He stands in front of the mirror, tries another combination, sighs, and tosses both pieces back on the bed. 

“Okay, fine, I’m on the rag and there’s a marathon of America’s Next Top Model.” 

“But I need you to play wingman,” he says. “And do my eyes. They never come out as well when I do them.” 

“You just need someone to play wingman because you want to fuck away the fact that Q is banging Alice down the hall.”

“They could put on some music or cast a silencing charm, Jesus.”

Margo walks out in the hallway, yells, “Keep it down, Coldwater!” and mutters something in old Slavonic. The noise stops. “Better?” she asks.

“Much. Thank you. So about that club —”

“I already told you. I’m on the rag.”

“Bam-bi,” Eliot whines. “Please? You know I hate to go by myself.” He drops down on one knee. “I’ll be your best friend.” 

She snorts. 

“All right,” she says. “But when I say go, we go, okay?” 

“I just want to go in and get out,” Eliot assures her, and her stomach sinks. Margo knows she’s enabling him. But she also knows that if she doesn’t, he’ll end up somewhere shadier, somewhere alone, somewhere dangerous. Normally she loves a good party. This is not going to be one of them. 

***

They portal into an alley near the club. Margo has a perfect smokey eye and flawless dark makeup. Her skirt comes up to _here_ ; her shirt down to _there_ ; she’s wearing fishnets and a lesser woman would totter in her heels. Todd was wiping drool off his face when he saw them leave the cottage. Eliot’s in leather pants and an untucked dress shirt, his eyes ringed in a gray shade of her Urban Decay, and somehow manages to make this look fabulous. She caught Quentin watching his ass on their way out. Those two. She wishes Q would just ditch Alice and he and Eliot would figure everything out, like they had before Brakebills South. Mayakovsky turns Q and Miss Priss into foxes and suddenly it’s all Alice, all the time. Margo’s no stranger to the pull of it, but Jesus, Q and Eliot had a good thing going. At least starting. At least it was something. 

They flash the backs of their hands at the bouncer and he nods them in. It’s a simple spell, really, to make him see what he wants to: sort of like the psychic paper in Dr. Who, Margo always jokes. Inside, there’s everything you expect from a seedy club: blacklight and house music thumping so hard you can feel it in your chest; a bar crowded with partiers lining one wall; a few scattered tables; an upstairs and a downstairs and a VIP room, which is where they head now. It’s where the magicians will be, and also the good drugs. 

Eliot’s going to want her to do lines. She sighs. 

The VIP room is dark. You can still feel the house music in your chest, but it’s faded now, and The National’s “Karen” plays instead. The chairs are plush; the dance floor’s small. Eliot and Margo take a table and a waiter appears. They order vodka. Margo sings along under her breath while Eliot scans the room. He uses a revelation spell and must find what he’s looking for, because he’s up and wandering over to a seedy-looking, thick-set kid in a muscle shirt. Margo stays put. 

“You all alone, sweetheart?” a voice says. She looks up from her liquor to see a tall man in a suit leering down her shirt. 

“My girlfriend’s in the ladies’,” she snaps. 

“Can I buy you both a drink?” he asks. 

Eliot’s talking to muscle boy now, putting his hand on his shoulder and nodding. She feels sick. “Can I tell you to fuck off more eloquently, or do I need a bouncer up in this bitch?” 

He turns on his heel. “Cunt,” he mutters.

She lets it ride. Eliot disappears into the bathroom with the guy he’s found. Fuck. Margo takes her drink and follows him. 

“Hey, you can’t go in there,” a guy says, reaching to grab her arm. “Ladies’ is over there.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” she says, shaking him away and pushing the door open. 

At least this is the VIP bathroom, not the nasty hovel of mens’ room downstairs. Eliot and the guy stand at a long bar in front of a mirror with another mirror between them. Here, boys have powder rooms too. Margo knows this; it’s not her first time in this particular mens’ room. “Bambi!” Eliot fairly squeals. He holds a razor and a twenty. “Do a line with us!”

“Have you bought it yet?” she asks dryly. 

“Not yet, no,” he says. 

“Then why don’t you ask your friend before you go offering me someone else’s coke, sweetheart.” 

Muscle boy shrugs. “This your girl?” he asks. 

“This my girl,” Eliot says. He loops his arm around Margo’s waist and kisses her on the mouth. 

The guy cuts a line with the razor blade. It’s a fat one. Fuck, Eliot must be buying a lot of cocaine if he’s cutting them them this big. She takes the twenty from Eliot, puts it to her nose, and snorts the coke along the mirror. It burns her nasal passage and numbs up her throat, then it hits: that invincible feeling, the quickening heartbeat, the clenching jaw. 

“Eliot, Eliot, buy that coke and let’s get out of here,” she almost-babbles. “We’ve got shit to do.”

“Like what? We’ve got to _dance,_ Bambi!” He pockets something and drags her out of the bathroom. 

“Oh my god,” she says. “Oh my god. Eliot. Eliot. We totally look like we were just fucking in there.” 

They collapse in laughter. 

“Come on Bambi, I want a pretty boy,” Eliot says. “You need a pretty boy.” 

“Make sure they’re magicians this time,” she says. “I’m not in the mood to fuck a Muggle.” 

They fall against each other in giggles. “Magicians have better _hands_ ,” Eliot says. “They have better _fingers_!” 

“Oh my god, Eliot, shut the fuck UP!” she says, smacking him on the arm. 

Before long, they’re both on the dance floor, grinding up on some magicians a few years older than they are. Margo’s is tall and rangy and has hedge tats but she’s willing to overlook that as long as he can cast. Then she looks over and realizes Eliot’s all over the dealer. Jesus Christ. Never fuck the dealer. Margo drops her hedge and pulls Eliot off the dance floor. 

“Time to go home, Cinderella,” she says. 

“You need a bump, baby?” he asks. “C’mon. Let’s hit the bathroom.” 

“You’re trying to fuck the _dealer_ ,” she hisses. 

“Whatever. He’s hot.” 

“He’s not and you’re high.” 

“ _You’re_ high.”

“Not as high as you.” 

“You’re a fucking wreck, Eliot.” 

“Look, just because he gave me some ecstasy —” 

“”You dropped some fucking x?! Oh, El. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.” Margo bodily drags him out the door. “Back to the Cottage. Now. We’re going home. We’re going home now.” 

“You’re no fun, Bambi,” Eliot complains. “You’re not being fun.” 

“You’re being a fucking train wreck, Eliot.” 

“I am not.” He starts to sing. Eliot loves to sing, and it only comes out when all his inhibitions are down. Like when he’s done several lines of coke. _“I’m put together beautifully, Big wet bottle in my fist. Big wet rose in my teeth. I’m a perfect piece of ass, Like every Californian —”_

She pulls him through the portal by the wrist. He still doesn’t shut up. Suddenly they’re on the lawn of the Cottage, it’s midnight, and he’s still belting out The National. _“And all the wine is all for me, And all the wine is all for me, And all the wine is all fooooooooor me!”_

“Oh my god, SHUT UP!” someone yells from inside.

“FUCK YOU!” Eliot hollers back. _“I’m a birthday candle in a circle of black girls, cos God is on my side, And I’m the child bride —"_

“Eliot you seriously have to shut the fuck up or Sunderland or Van Der Wegh or Fogg is going to come out and find your ass high as a fucking kite and then we are going to be truly assfucked, okay? So shut the the fuck up and let’s go inside, all right? All right?” Margo pulls a still-singing Eliot through the front door and into the main room. It doesn’t help that she’s beating like a hummingbird wing herself. The coke’s thrumming through her, grinding her jaw, twisting her fingers, nibbling at her lips. 

“Oh hey,” says Todd from the couch. 

“Past your bedtime, Todd,” Margo snaps. 

_“And all the wine is all fooooooor me!”_ sings Eliot. Margo wonders exactly how much coke he’s snorted relative to how much x he’s taken and what it was laced with. 

“Todd? Bedtime. Now.” 

Todd gathers his books and scurries out. He passes Quentin on the stairs, man-bag and tousled hair and everything. Just what they needed. Margo knows the universe is not fair, but this seems a particularly vindictive move on its part. 

“Hey, uh, Margo, uh, Eliot, do you two, um, need — I mean, uh, are you okay?” 

“Does he look okay, dickhole?” Margo asks. Fuck, she probably doesn’t look okay either. Consciously, she stops grinding her teeth and fishes a pack of gum from her purse. 

Luckily, Eliot’s shut up now that Quentin’s in the room. “Heeeeeeey, Quentin,” he says. 

“Can I —“

“You can get him a drink.” 

“What kind? I mean wine or rum or whiskey or —“

“Just get him some fucking vodka,” Margo says. “It comes up clear if he has too much.” She perches on the edge of the couch and pulls Eliot down next to her, then hops into his lap and puts her feet up. Q can probably see right up her skirt. Fuck it. “And bring me some!” she calls. 

“Uh, what’s he on?” Quentin asks. 

“That’s none of your business, Quentin Coldwater,” says Eliot magnanimously. “Bambi, we should make out.” 

“No, we shouldn’t. Quentin’s here.” 

“Quentin, we should make out,” Eliot says. 

“Jesus, Eliot,” Q says. He hands them both tumblers of vodka. Margo sips at hers — her liver isn’t made of iron and she is, after all, rather on the small side. Eliot downs his in one gulp. “No, seriously, Q, we should make out.” 

“Quentin’s with Alice, baby,” Margo says. She’s chewing hard on her gum, tapping her foot against the couch. She feels like she wants to crawl out of her skin. This is why she didn’t want to do lines: she knew she’d end up fucking taking care of Eliot. 

“She’s um, upstairs? Studying for PA tomorrow? She was pretty pissed you were making all that noise on the lawn.” 

“Oh, fuck her,” Eliot spits.

“Eliot,” Margo warns. “Be nice.” She pulls her fingers through his hair, hoping the contact will distract him from whatever trajectory he’s on. Sometimes, when he’s on x, this can turn him into a melty Eliot puddle. 

“Mmmmm, that feels _good_ , Bambi,” he says. He pulls her close to kiss her. Goddamn it. Eliot will make out with a chair when he’s x’ed out. She disentangles herself. 

“I thought you two weren’t —” Quentin’s confused. 

“We’re _not_ ,” Margo says. “Okay, like not like most of the time? Once in a while? Like when we bring home guys together or something like that? I mean it’s not like we’ve never had sex or something, but we’re not random fuck buddies if that’s what you’re asking.” She’s babbling again. And to Q. It’s the coke. Fuck fuck fuck. 

“That sort of makes some sense,” Quentin says. “In like, a really fucked up way?” 

“I have totally fucked Bambi,” Eliot adds. “Bambi, I just had the best idea. We should _totally_ fuck Quentin. He would love it.” He pushes Margo unceremoniously off his lap and stands up, walks up to Q. He towers over him. “You liked it plenty before,” he says. 

“Um. You guys. If Alice comes down here, she is going to massively lose her shit,” Quentin says nervously. 

“You give the best head, Quentin,” Eliot says. 

“Jesus, Eliot.” 

“Then you go and ditch me for Little Miss Perfect upstairs. Well, you know what I think of that? Fuck that, that’s what.”

“Eliot. Stop it,” Margo says sharply. 

“No, I want to hear what he has to say,” Quentin says. “I want to hear exactly what he thinks we had. Because the last time I checked, he was having a really great time fucking me and making it really clear he wasn’t into an actual relationship.” 

“That’s because you made it really clear you weren’t into a real relationship. You told me you don’t date men.” 

“I told you I _didn’t_ date men. Past tense.” 

“Yeah, well, excuse me for fucking up your verb tenses, Coldwater!” 

By this time they’re actually yelling at each other. Margo had downed her liquor and would put her head in her hands if she could bear to hold it there. Instead, she’s up and pacing. “Will. You. Two. Shut. The FUCK UP!” she shouts. “Jesus Christ, the whole Cottage can hear you!”

There’s timid footsteps on the stairs. The three of them freeze. “Quentin?” Alice asks. “What’s going on?” 

“Nothing,” he snaps. 

“What are you and Eliot fighting about?” she asks. She’s holding a book in front of her and looks for all the world like the perfect little schoolgirl. In that moment, Margo hates her. 

“The fact that he ditched me for you, Princess,” Eliot says smoothly. 

“You dated _Eliot_?” Alice asks. 

Oh. Fuck, Margo thinks. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. She really, really, really does not want to be here for this. “Does anyone want a drink?” she says loudly. “Because I want a drink.” 

“You never told me you dated Eliot!” Alice snaps. 

“Well, the whole fucking Cottage knew he was blowing me, Jesus, Alice,” Eliot says. “For someone so allegedly brilliant you’re remarkably dense.”

“Is this true, Quentin?” Alice asks. Margo can’t stand the way she enunciates every fucking letter. 

“Eliot and I hooked up a few times,” Quentin says. 

“Oh come on!” Eliot’s livid now. “He basically moved into my room! Do you ever pull your head out of a book?” 

“We’re leaving.” Margo grabs Eliot’s wrist. “It’s bedtime. Now.” She knows there’s no way he’s sleeping tonight, but she has to get him out of here. 

“Oh sure, rescue him,” Alice bites off. 

“Alice,” Margo warns. “I say this in all kindness, keep your twat out of it tonight.” 

“What the hell are you two _on_ , anyway?” 

“Look.” Margo takes a deep breath. “You’re pissed your boyfriend used to fuck dudes and kept you in the dark about it. You” — she points to Quentin— “ are pissed the dude you used to fuck called you on ditching him. And you, Eliot, are coked out and x’ed out and pissed you got ditched. And I’m pissed I have to deal with all your emotional bullshit. I’d rather hang out with fucking Todd than negotiate you dickholes’ drama. So Eliot, you’re coming upstairs to my room. You two can fuck on the couch or get drunk or fight or whateverthefuck you feel like but we’re out.” She turns on her heel and drags Eliot up the stairs. She can feel Quentin watch them go. Alice’s voice is already rising. 

Good. Someone else can take over the common room drama. 

As she pulls Eliot towards her room, she sees a door open. “The fuck is going on out there?” a guy asks. 

“Ask Quentin and Alice,” Margo says. 

“Hiiiiii,” Eliot says. 

Margo finally manages to get him inside. She knows she’ll spend the rest of the night playing music for him, petting him, holding his head while he throws up, smoking cigarettes, and probably eventually making out with him. They’re going to miss class tomorrow, both of them. She’ll do at least one more line to keep up with him. And when they finally pass out, he’ll wake up, and he won’t remember any of it. Nothing. Except that they bought coke, and came back to the Cottage, stayed up and then passed out. 

He can’t keep up like this. 

But she doesn’t know how to make him stop.


	2. At the Center of It All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the morning (later afternoon) after. Margo and Eliot wander downstairs to find Quentin and Alice. More drama ensues.

Margo and Eliot awaken in a sticky tangle. By the slant of the light filtering through her window, she can tell it’s nigh on 3 o’clock in the afternoon. She sighs. Her room’s a wreck: half-full ashtrays, discarded vinyl — including her clear edition of _Blackstar_ that’s worth like, a million bucks — makeup everywhere. She and Eliot must have decided to play makeover last night. She touches her face. Yep. She’s wearing nothing but underwear and Urban Decay. So is Eliot. But her mouth tastes sick and cottony; her tongue feels bloated and her head aches like a migraine coming on. She pulls Eliot’s arm off her, heads to the bathroom to shower and brush her teeth. 

“Bambi?” Eliot calls feebly. 

“What?” she snaps. 

“I feel like I’ve been beaten with very blunt, very heavy farm implements.” 

She comes out wrapped in towel. “Serves you right for all the coke you did.” 

He’s sitting up on one elbow now. “Hair of the dog,” he says. He’s cutting a line on the mirror of an eyeshadow palette. “Want one?” 

She knows she’ll feel a lot less fucked up if she gives in. “I’ll just take some Adderall. And don’t snort any of that fucking Naked palette. It’s my favorite.” 

“I will endeavor not to put your eyeshadow up my nose, Bambi.” Eliot rolls a nearby bill and neatly takes in the white line he’s carved up with a credit card. He licks his finger, chases the last grains down and rubs them on his gums. “Aaaah, it’s a beautiful sunshiny morning here at Brakebills.” 

“Eliot, it’s like, late afternoon.” 

“Oh, good, we can start drinking without getting side-eye.” 

“Go take a fucking shower.” 

“Can’t I just use yours? I’m lazy.” 

“No. You steal all my conditioner.” 

“Pleeeease?” 

“Okay, fine. But only after I’m done, bitch.” Margo disappears into the bathroom. On the other side of the wall, Alice is playing Tom Petty’s _American Girl_. Oh, fuck, she thinks, suddenly remembering the giant fight in the common room last night. Fuck fuck fuck. She walks out the bathroom naked, puts on _Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars_ , and goes back in, ignoring Eliot. Casual nudity is nothing with him. She cannot take Alice’s musical tastes this afternoon. Especially if she starts singing along. 

Margo spends about an hour on her hair and makeup; Eliot towers over her and arranges his curls to perfection before making her do his eyes again. She picks out another tight dress — it is Friday night — and they decamp to his room to find him some clothes. The Adderall’s working by now, and she feels less cotton-y. Eliot’s coked up to just above baseline. 

He takes his time picking out a vest, shirt, slacks, and tie combo, so she spends her time flopped on his bed reading. He’s lacking decent books in here — Eliot’s not the reader she is and never will be, no matter how hard she tries to turn him — but she finds the copy of _A Game of Thrones_ she lent him tossed half-under the bed. Finally, dressed and ready for the day by 5 pm, they wander downstairs. 

The common room is half-full of students lounging over couches and hanging out, waiting for the Friday night fun to start. Eliot immediately takes his place behind the bar. “I don’t think I’ve come up with a cocktail for tonight,” he muses. “The mint in the back looked good. Maybe something with mint — Todd, go get me some mint. Bambi, do you think this one should glow, or is that too fin de siecle?” 

From the corner, Margo hears a disgusted hmmph. Alice stands up, grabs a bag, and stomps out. 

“What crawled up her ass?” Eliot asks. 

“You did,” Quentin snaps as he picks up his man-bag and begins to follow her. 

“Dude, what the fuck,” Eliot says. 

“Maybe if you weren’t so busy trying to stuff the world up your nose, you’d know what we were talking about,” Quentin says. “But, oh wait, you were too fucked up to remember last night.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Q?” Eliot asks. 

“Oh, Jesus Christ, can we just forget about it?” Margo asks. “Everyone was being a cunt, Eliot. Including you. So tell Quentin you’re sorry and make me something to drink.” 

“No, we can’t just forget about it,” Quentin says. By now, conversation has died down and people are craning their necks to see what’s going on. “You outed me, asshole.” 

The room goes quiet. Margo begins, silently, to grind her teeth. 

“I’ve got the mint!” Todd says, bursting in the door with a handful of greens. 

“Thanks, Todd,” Margo tells him. “Put it on the bar.” 

“Why’s everyone so quiet?” he asks. “Is there something on my shirt or something?” 

“Yes,” Margo says. “You should go wash it off. Now.” Todd hustles off to the bathroom. 

“I did _what_?” Eliot says. 

“You outed me. To Alice.” 

“Well, it’s not my fault you never told her about us, Jesus, Q.” 

“There was no ‘us’!” 

“Um, I think mutual dick-sucking counts as an ‘us’ moment,” Eliot says, moving his index fingers together. 

“You were coked out last night. I bet you’re coked out now.” 

“Coke’s got nothing to do with it, Coldwater,” Eliot says smoothly. 

“Lowered inhibitions! Excitability! Mood swings! Dilated pupils!” 

“Oh my god, what are you, a D.A.R.E. commercial?” 

People’s heads are bouncing back and forth from Eliot to Quentin like they’re watching a particularly interesting tennis match. “Why don’t you fucksticks find something to do outside?” Margo says. People grumble. 

“Like now,” she fairly growls. The temperature in the room starts to drop. Precipitously. Her specialty is cold magic, after all. Mumbling about how they always take over the fucking common room, god they’re such assholes sometimes, everyone wanders into the library or the dining room or the basement. The temperature begins to return to normal. 

Meanwhile Eliot and Quentin are still at it. “You didn’t have to say something in front of Alice!” 

“Why the fuck wouldn’t I? Are you ashamed of me?” Eliot asks. “I should have known that bisexual bullshit was an act.”

“I AM BI!” Quentin yells. “How many fucking times do I have to convince you people I’m not making that shit up? And no, I’m not ashamed of you! It just — I don’t know. It never came up.” 

“How does, ‘Hey, I spent the last three months blowing a dude’ not come up?” Eliot asks.

“Alice is kind of — I don’t know. I sort of thought she’d be weird about that.” 

“Why, because she’s a fucking prude?” Margo asks. “Bitch has probably been faking orgasms her entire life.” 

“Fucking come on, Margo.” 

“What? I’m only saying what everyone else is thinking, god.” 

“I heard that,” Alice says. She’s come back in without anyone noticing. “And just because you think it’s fun to fuck everyone you lay eyes on doesn’t mean all of us have to follow your slutty example.” 

Margo rolls her eyes. “Christ on a tricycle. Are you so pissed that Quentin used to fuck Eliot you’re going to go after me now? I’m just an innocent bystander, sweetheart.” 

“You just called me a prude!”

“I call it like I see it, girlfriend.”

“Can you please, like, make your girlfriend stop trying to fight with my not-girlfriend?” Eliot says. “Before she ends up chewed into six hundred pieces or stabbed with a mascara wand?” 

“Did he just tell you to _control me_?!” Alice shrills. 

“Oh dear God in heaven,” Margo says. “Eliot, you’re drama-free compared to this shit.” 

“Alice, seriously, you should probably stay out of this?” Quentin ventures. 

“Why, because I can’t deal with having a bisexual boyfriend who actually sucks dick?” 

This sounds too much like something she’s repeating. Eliot and Margo exchange a glance. Quentin starts to get red around the ears. 

“You people,” Alice says, “are fucked up. You just take people and — and use them, and then throw them away when they’re no good to you anymore. Or when it’s just convenient. Or when you think you might just get some fucking entertainment out of it because your lives are so meaningless you have to fuck with other people to feel something!”

“Girl,” Eliot looks down his long nose at her. “Are you sure you’re not the one who did a line this morning?” 

“Oh my fucking god,” Quentin says. 

Margo collapses onto the couch and puts her feet up on the table. “Eliot, make me something to drink,” she orders. “I can’t stand this bullshit anymore without alcohol.” 

“I can see up your skirt,” Alice snarks. 

“Oh, were you looking, Miss Tits?” Margo says. 

Alice lets out a hissy shriek and stomps up to Quentin. “Let’s go,” she says. 

“I’m not done talking to Eliot,” he tells her. 

“Fine. I’ll be in my room.” She storms up the stairs. They hear her slam her door one floor up and a building away. 

“So,” Eliot says. 

“So,” Quentin says. 

“I gather I was kind of a cunt last night,” Eliot says. “For which I humbly apologize.” 

“It’s just, Eliot —” Quentin runs his hand through his hair. Margo knows he does it when he’s nervous. “I thought we were over with, okay? Or we weren’t going anywhere. Or whatever. And then Alice came along, and —” 

“Foxes, I get it,” Eliot says. 

“Look, I’m in love with Alice,” Quentin says. 

“I get it,” Eliot says. 

“That doesn’t mean I was never in love with you.” 

Eliot doesn’t reply. He just looks at Quentin. Margo can’t decipher his face, if he’s about to cry or scream or say nothing at all. 

“Look, I better go after her,” Q says. He turns and goes up the stairs. They hear his footsteps on the hardwoods, going down the hall towards Alice’s room. 

“I need to come up with a cocktail,” Eliot says. He begins to busy himself at the bar. “Go get Todd. He needs to tell everyone the Physical Kids are throwing a blowout tonight. Then I need the password you’re using for your wards this week. I left the coke in your room.” 

Margo’s stomach sinks. It must show on her face. 

“Don’t worry, Bambi.” Eliot kisses her on the head. “Daddy always shares his stash.” 

Margo kisses him on the cheek. She loves Eliot like no one else on earth. And right now, she’s terrified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing bitchy Alice here. I can just HEAR her shrilling in my ear. I do love her, though. Plus, coming up with new and inventive ways for Margo to swear = lots of fun. Also, I love making her (and Eliot) a gigantic David Bowie fan. 
> 
> What do you think should come next? I'm not sure where this should go now, or if needs to go anywhere. But I'm very interested in the trajectory of Eliot's drug addiction, so. There's that. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are love! Tell me what you think!


	3. Scars that Can't Be Seen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot and Margo throw a blow-out party.

Todd does his job well — you can always count on Todd for that. By 8 o’clock, the Cottage is packed with people. Eliot spends the intervening hours doing lines and perfecting a sort of glowing neon mint julep and dry ice concoction that lays you out flat if you drink too much of it. At least, it does if you’re Todd. Margo, in charge of the music, decides that after all the drama, she’s subjecting everyone to a healthy mixture of trance and David Bowie, fuck them very much if they complain. Anyway, her playlists are always impeccable. That is, until she gets too smashed to care and someone hijacks them with all-time party favorites, including, usually, regrettably, “Livin’ On a Prayer.” 

Of course, Eliot doesn’t like sneaking into the bathroom to do lines alone, because he’s Eliot and Eliot hates doing anything alone. So every time Eliot snorts coke, Margo has at least a bump. Once the other Brakebills students start wandering in, she’s humming everywhere: welcoming people into the Cottage, buzzing around to assure everyone felt included, chattering with people she knows and people she doesn’t, laughing too loudly at everyone’s jokes and hanging on Eliot. He’s stationed himself behind the bar and keeps up a non-stop patter of jokes, innuendo, and small spells to amuse whomever stops by for alcohol. Whenever Margo wanders near, he loops an arm around her waist and kisses her on the mouth. “We need to find a boy tonight,” he whispers in her ear. 

“We definitely need to find a boy tonight,” she agrees, out loud. Fuck whoever hears them. 

“But which one to choose?” Eliot presses. 

“I always kinda thought I’d bang Penny,” Margo offers. The traveler’s standing in a corner, glaring at anyone who approaches. Why he’s bothered to come she doesn’t know. Probably for the free booze. 

“I don’t think Penny likes dick,” Eliot says. 

“Get a few drinks in them, everyone likes dick.” 

“No, I think he has a distinct aversion to the male anatomy,” Eliot says. “But seriously, we need to find a boy. Someone hot. Someone kind of nerdy and unaware of their hotness. Preferably an actual bisexual, not someone who’s willing to suck some dick to get in your pants.” 

Neither of them mention that he’s just described Quentin, who wandered downstairs a few minutes ago, sans Alice. Probably studying, Margo thinks. Only Miss Perfect would pass up a party roaring downstairs to fit in some prime study time.

Quentin begins walking towards the bar. 

“I need another line,” Eliot says, and exits stage left. 

Fuck. Margo’s left alone, “Ashes to Ashes” blaring through the Cottage, only a scarred oak bar between her and Quentin Coldwater, who smiles like nothing bad has ever happened in his life and says, “I hear good things about the signature cocktail.” 

“You’d have to talk to your ex about that,” she tell him. “With these nails, I don’t mix drinks.”

“He’s not my ex, god.” 

“Honey, you sucked his dick enough times that he falls under the definition of ‘ex.’”

“Where is he, anyway?” 

“I don’t know. Probably off doing lines.” She flips her hair behind her shoulders. 

“Fuck, Margo. Why don’t you go stop him, or something?” 

“Why don’t you go stop him or something?” 

Quentin closes his eyes, presses his lips into a line and half-turns away from her. Patented Coldwater defeatist face. So fucking predictable. 

“Maybe you should go ask him why he’s doing lines in the first place. Or, you know what? Just go fuck Alice. Maybe she’ll fake it again for you.” 

“God, why do you have to be so mean all the time?” 

_“Ashes to ashes, funk to funky, We know Major Tom’s a junkie,”_ she sings, for lack of a better retort. At least it’ll seem cryptic and somehow meaningful. _“Strung out in heaven’s high, Hitting that all-time low.”_ She intentionally turn her back to him. “Hey, Penny,” she says. “Want another drink, baby?”

“God, Coldwater, how many fucking times do I have to tell you to fix your wards? I can hear you all the way across the room.” 

“I’m trying,” Quentin fairly whines. 

“Not hard enough,” Penny snaps. “If you’re so fucking worried about Eliot, go talk to him, asswipe.” 

“I’m not worried about Eliot!” Quentin flares. 

“Oh. Yeah. And I’m Mickey fucking Mouse. Just go tell him you want to fuck him again while you’re at it. God, you people are so stupid. And yes, Margo, I’d like another one of those drinks.”

She smiles sweetly at him and mixes up a cocktail. Quentin glares at her. 

“Thanks, girl.” 

“Any time, baby.” 

“You know where to find me.” 

“I’ll be right here,” she says. 

“And tell Eliot if he feels like sharing what he’s got, I’m all in.” 

“Well, come on then.” She takes him by the hand and leads him back to the bathroom, a pissed off Quentin still standing at the bar. Eliot’s still there, sweating nervously and pressing his palms together. 

“Is he gone?” he asks immediately. 

“I brought a friend,” Margo says. 

“You share, I share,” Penny offers. 

“Whatcha got?” Eliot asks. 

Penny takes a joint and some pills from his pocket. “Weed and some x. You wanna candy-flip tonight?” 

“Oh fuck yes, Penny, you’re a lifesaver,” Eliot says. “Bambi?” 

She’s just fucking finished. The end of “Ashes to Ashes” echoes through the Cottage: _“My mother said to get things done, You better not mess with Major Tom.”_ “I’m all in, Tinkerbell.” 

They swallow the pills, snort a line each, and are passing the joint around when someone starts banging on the door. “Oh my god I have to fucking pee!” a girl’s shrieks. “You’ve been in there like fucking forever!” 

Eliot sighs. “Duty calls,” he says. The three of them saunter out of the bathroom. 

“It totally looks like we were fucking in there,” Penny says. 

“What the fuck ever,” Margo says. The x is hitting her now. She wants to crawl into someone’s arms and cuddle. Or dance. She really wants to fucking dance. “Eliot!” she squeals. “Let’s dance!”  
Luckily the music’s changed to some trance, and a spell’s made colored lights pop on and off all over the Cottage. Eliot and Margo barge into the middle of the room, where the furniture’s been pushed back, and start gyrating. Penny stands in the corner and watches. They’re soon joined by other people, and soon everyone’s dancing and grinding on each other. Margo turns and see Quentin behind her. Lo and behold, Coldwater’s doing his best to bump and grind with the rest of them. She laughs. 

“You don’t move your hips like that,” she says. “You do it like this.” She puts her hands on his hips and shows him what she means, tries to get him to unclench and move more fluidly. He doesn’t flinch back, doesn’t run off. She pulls him closer. “You know we don’t mean to be mean to you,” she yells to him, over the music and around her gum. “It’s just Eliot. He never got over you. He’s still not over you, Q.” 

“I know,” Quentin yells into her ear. She’s grinding on him now, and it feels _good_. He doesn’t seem to mind, just slips his hand behind her back. Bitchily, she hopes Alice picks this particular moment to come downstairs. “But I don’t know what to do about it. It’s not like I got off easy from him, either. Jesus. I thought he was basically using me for a good time. Because why wouldn’t he?” 

Margo stares at him, wide-eyed, pupils blown. “Why would he?” she demands. 

“Because that’s what you guys do,” Quentin says.

“If that’s what you think of us, then fuck you, Quentin Coldwater,” she says. “Fuck you, you fucking twat.” She pushes him away. “You think all we do is play games? Here’s a game for you: Eliot’s an addict and I don’t know how to stop him.” 

There. She’s finally said it out loud. And to Quentin, no less. Fuck fuck fuck. Eliot’s going to kill her. He’s going to _kill_ her. So she turns on her heel and stalks off through the dance floor, leaving Quentin standing alone, motionless, like a total idiot. At least that feels good. 

She finds Eliot behind the bar. “Bambi,” he coos. He scoops her into his arm and kisses her. This time, there’s tongue involved. She presses up against him. “What were you and Quentin making love and war about?” 

“You,” she says. “Give me another drink, baby.” 

He manages to make the cocktail one-handed while his other arm holds her close She resists the urge to run her hands through his curls. She’ll fuck up their perfect arrangement and totally enrage him. So she drags him over to the couch, where they lie half on top of each other and watch everyone get drunk and dance at the party they’re supposed to be throwing. She lays her head in Eliot’s lap. He starts braiding her hair. 

“Um, I thought they weren’t —” she hears someone say. 

“Yeah, well, you never know with those two,” someone else replies.

“Oh, you’re just jealous you’re not invited,” Margo says. 

“Okay, we can’t stay on the couch all night,” Eliot says. “Time to get happy, Bambi.” 

“Eliot,” she whines. “We just got here. I want to cuddle.” 

Then Quentin plops down beside them. 

“What the _fuck_?!” Margo fairly yells. 

“Eliot,” he says. “We need to talk.” 

“There’s nothing to talk about, darling,” Eliot says breezily. “You prefer fucking little miss studious to me, and while there’s really nothing wrong with that, I would have preferred some advance warning. Or, really, any warning. Or acknowledgement. But hey, bae, it’s all right.” He pinches Quentin’s chin. “We all get to fuck our friends, make them fall in love with us, and then ditch them when a walking pair of tits stumbles by.” He stands up, spills Margo off his lap. “Excuse me, I have pressing business behind the bar.” 

Margo glares at Quentin from the floor. “Well, help me up, fuckstick!” 

Quentin hauls her to her feet without her showing her (lack of) underwear to everyone. “We really need to talk,” he says. 

“You and me, or you and Queen Bitch? Because right now, I’m about to cut you on her behalf.” 

“How bad is he?” Quentin asks. 

“How bad is he? What the fuck do you mean, how bad is he? Have you been here for the past two nights, or did Alice fuck you so hard your brains leaked out your ears?”

“I mean how much of what is he doing?” 

“I don’t fucking know! You think I’m weighing his coke intake with a metric scale? A fuckton, Quentin. He’s doing a fuckton of cocaine.” 

“And you’re doing it with him,” he says flatly. 

“If I don’t he’ll do even more,” she says. “And it’s the only way to keep an eye on him.” 

“What are you on right now?” 

“What, you think you can make a concern-y face and suddenly be our best friend?”

“Look, I just want to help.” 

“You can help by staying the fuck away.” Margo stands up. “I’m going to find Eliot. Why don’t you go spend some quality time with Miss Tits in Wonderland, huh?” 

She stalks off to the bar. Except Eliot isn’t behind the bar. She scans the room for him. “Blackstar” has come on, and people are nodding slowly along with it, drinking and starting to make out in corners. She can’t see him. Fuck. She’s got a touch of precognition and it’s ringing, ringing, ringing. 

She runs to the bathroom. “Eliot!” she calls, banging on the door. “Eliot!” 

No one answers. She doesn’t have time for this bullshit. Margo stands back, chants the same spell she cast to get into the Cottage so long ago. The bathroom door freezes and shatters. When the air clears, she sees Eliot in the shards. He’s laid out flat on the floor, baggie next to his head, and he’s seizing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penny would totally be the enabler. And Quentin would totally be drug-ignorant.   
> I'm still taking the titles from Bowie lyrics. As Penny would say, "Deal."


	4. Lazarus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margo finds Eliot seizing on the floor from a drug overdose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to coldfiredragon and adjovi for the ideas for this fic! It would have stayed at chapter 1 without their encouragement :).

“Eliot!” Margo yells. “Eliot!” But he doesn’t hear her, doesn’t hear anything, because he’s on the floor seizing and totally out of it. She holds his head and screams. People are already coming running; they must have heard her shatter the door, and they’re yelling and calling for help. Margo holds Eliot’s head to stop him from hitting it on anything but his body is still convulsing; sweat sticks his curls to his head. 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck someone get HELP!” Margo is screaming. Aren’t one of these partying fuckers Healing students?! 

Suddenly Quentin’s at her side. “Penny’s going to travel him to the infirmary,” he says. “Then he’s going to come back and get you. But you have to let him take El, okay?” Gently, he takes her hands from Eliot’s head and pulls her back. Penny pushes through the crowd at the door, grabs whatever he can reach of Eliot, and they disappear. 

Margo turns into Quentin’s chest and dissolves into broken, hitching tears. He doesn’t say anything, just holds her there on the bathroom floor. The people leave. She’s curled against him, crying and crying and crying, she can’t stop, and it takes her time before she realizes that Quentin is crying with her. 

“Is he going to die, Q?” she asks. “Did I get there quick enough?” 

“I don’t know,” he says into her hair, because they both know it’s better for him to tell the truth than to cover it up with some stupid lie. “I don’t know.” 

“Oh my god,” she says. “Oh my god. Where the fuck is Penny?” 

“He probably has to talk to the healers. Probably has to tell them what he’s on. He knows what Eliot’s taken, right?” 

“Yeah,” Margo says. “He gave him the x. And did a line with us.” 

“I never thought I’d say this, but thank God for Penny’s drugs.” 

Just then, Penny flashes into the bathroom, almost on top of them. “Margo, come on, they want to talk to you,” he says. He grabs her hand and bam! They’re in the infirmary. She’s shaking and crying and the white room she’s in doesn’t contain Eliot. 

“Where’s El?” she asks, almost hysterically. “Where is he?” 

“I’ll be back with Quentin,” Penny says, “Then taxi service is over for the night.” He flashes out without even asking if she wants Quentin, if Quentin should be here. 

“Eliot’s in the next room. He’s had a mild heart attack,” the dark-haired healer tells her. “Brought on by the excessive use of cocaine. Did you know how much he was using?” 

“I knew he was using,” she says. Her voice evens. “But not that much. Not enough to hurt him. I would have stopped him. I would have.” 

Suddenly, as if the quality of the air changes, Dean Fogg strides in. “Miss Hanson,” he says. “You and Mr. Waugh are lucky. He’ll be fine after some rest.”

She bursts into tears again. She feels ridiculous but can’t stop herself. Penny appears beside her, Quentin in tow. He immediately puts his arms around her and she buries her face in his chest. Quentin. Fucking Quentin. She’s clinging to him like a little kid. And he’s clinging back. 

“Mr. Coldwater. Eliot will be fine after some rest.” 

“Ohthankgod,” Quentin says, and goes almost boneless against Margo. 

“But if I hear of any more shenanigans happening in that Cottage, I’m shutting it down, do you hear me? And there. Will. Be. Expulsions.” He fixes an eye on Margo. “Don’t think I don’t know you’re nearly as high as he is, Miss Hanson. How you managed to cast in that state I haven’t a clue.” He adjusts his glasses. “But you saved his life, and that’s worth something, to me at least, and I suspect to him as well. So go in and see him. You’ve earned that.” 

“One at a time,” the healer says. 

“I’m not leaving him,” Margo says fiercely. 

She rolls her eyes. “Fine. Whatever. But just the two of you.” 

“You go in first,” Quentin says. He lets her go, and she realizes he’s been holding her the whole time. 

Eliot’s laid out shirtless on a hospital bed, and from what Margo can see of his legs, he’s naked. There’s some kind of sigil painted on his chest. His curls are stuck to his forehead, spit has dried on the corner of his mouth. His eyes are sort of glazed over and he’s shade of pale she’s never seen on a human being.

“Bambi,” he rasps, and reaches out to her. His hand shakes, and he drops it.

“Oh, El,” she says. She’s at his side, somehow, it seems, without moving. She kisses his sick, salty forehead. “I thought we lost you.” 

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” he manages. 

She laughs feebly. “We need a new bathroom door. I had to shatter it.” 

“Like when you got us into the Cottage?” 

“Like when I got us into the Cottage.” 

He smiles, but it’s wan, as if he’s so tired he can hardly move his muscles. “How did you know to come get me?” 

“I just did.” 

“You just did?” 

“I just did.” She pauses. “Baby, why did you do it?” 

“I don’t know. I just — I did some coke and I did some more and I did some more and I don’t remember anything after that.” 

“But why?” 

The hurt is etched on his face. “You know why.”

She wants to gather him into her arms, rock him like a baby, but she’s too scared of hurting him. Instead, she smooths the sweat-sticked curls off his forehead. “Oh, El, he’s here. Penny brought him. He stayed with me when you — when we thought you were going to — He wants to talk to you.” 

Eliot sighs, then goes into a coughing fit. Margo’s about to scream for a nurse when he stops. “You can’t escape the living, I suppose,” he says. 

“You wouldn’t want to, El. Tell me you wouldn’t want to.” She looks at him fiercely. “Promise me, Eliot.” 

He sighs again, more lightly this time. “I promise, Bambi.” 

She gets a washcloth from the sink and wipes his face off. “There. Now you’re at least attractively invalid. I’ll go get him.” 

“Bambi.” He manages to grab her hand. “Stay with me. Don’t leave me alone with him.” 

She squeezes his hand as hard she dares. “I won’t, baby.” 

When Quentin comes in, he’s tentative, skirting the wall. But his face is tear-streaked and he doesn’t bother to hide it. “Hey, El,” he says. “We were scared we lost you.” 

“Yeah, well, here I am,” he says. Margo sits on a chair next to the bed, holding his hand. She squeezes it. 

“About that.” Quentin shuffles his feet. He looks down. When he looks up, he’s crying. “I don’t want to lose you, El. I was so scared.” 

“So I hear,” Eliot manages dryly. 

“Look, I don’t want to make this about me, because you’re that one that just had a fucking heart attack, and that would be shitty, but look — I love you, okay? I love you, Eliot. I didn’t stop loving you. And when I came back from Brakebills South with Alice and I saw the look on your face my heart dropped and I felt like I was ripping something away, I really did. But what was I supposed to say to her? What was I supposed to do? I love her. I still love her. But I love you too.” 

“Wow, you’re really doing a great job of this one, Coldwater,” Margo says. 

“For once in your life, shut the fuck up, Margo,” Quentin tells her through his tears, and to his shock, she sits back in her chair. But she doesn’t let go of Eliot’s hand, and her glare remains intact. 

“You’re the one who thought this was all a fucking game,” Eliot says. 

“Yeah, because I’m depressed, Eliot! I didn’t think that someone as cool as you and as hot as you and as stupendously, amazingly, wonderfully perfect as you could ever fall in love with me. Why would you bother with me? So when Alice came along, and then Mayakovsky did — you know — I just … went along with it. It seemed more plausible than you ever did.”

“You told me you didn’t date men. You said that to me. We were standing in that back garden, smoking, and the sun was setting, and you said: you didn’t date men.” 

“I told you! It was in the past tense! And you made some joke about it and shoved the conversation on and I didn’t get to make the big speech I had planned, which was about how I didn’t date men but I wanted to date you, dumbass! I was going to say that I wanted to date you!” Tears won’t stop streaking down Quentin’s face, wetting his hair. He flips it back. 

The room is still except for Eliot’s labored breathing.

“Well, fuck me, right?” Eliot says. “Or don’t, as the case may be.” 

“And now there’s Alice.”

“And now there’s Alice.” 

“Fuck Alice,” Margo says.

“I can’t,” Quentin says simply. “I love Alice.” 

“Your problem is that you fucking love everything,” Margo snaps at him. “Pick something.”

“Then I have to pick her. For now.” 

“What the _fuck_ does that mean?” Margo demands. 

“Look, since when were you part of this relationship?” Quentin demands. 

“Since my best friend nearly died because of you.” 

There. She’s said it. The enormity of it sits between them all, takes up all the air in the room. The temperature’s dropping, they can all feel it. Margo stands up. “I need some fucking air,” she snaps, and walks out. She’ll freeze the room if she stays.

“At least you admit it’s a relationship,” Eliot says. 

“It is if you want it to be,” Quentin says. “As friends, right now. As something else, later. I promise. Just not right now. I can’t right now.” 

“So you’re saying you’re going to string Alice along until you get sick of her and then ditch her for me? That sounds like something you were accusing me of” — he pauses to breathe for a moment — “doing earlier this evening. Or last night. I’m not sure.”

“No. She’ll leave me. She’s too … much … for me. I’m not good enough for her.” 

“Quentin, you’re good enough for anyone,” Eliot says. 

“No. She needs someone who can keep up with her. I can’t. She tolerates me. The fox thing will wear off. She’ll break my heart sooner or later.” 

“Because you still love her,” Eliot says flatly.

“Because I still love her,” he says simply. “And I still love you. You can love two people at the same time, El.” 

Eliot closes his eyes. “I can’t do this, Quentin.” 

“You can’t do — what?”

“I can’t wait around for you to figure out Alice. I fucking can’t. I can’t sit around and pine for you. We’re done, okay? Officially. It’s over. And it hurts and it breaks my heart, apparently literally, and I love you but we’re done here. All right? We’re done. We can still be friends, if you give me some space for a while. But we’re finished.” He opens his eyes. “Tell Bambi to come back in, will you?” 

Quentin turns and leaves Eliot. He’s still crying. He finds Margo standing outside the door of the infirmary smoking a cigarette. He recognizes it as one of Eliot’s. 

“He’s all yours,” he says. 

“What happened?” she asks, seeing his tears.

“He told me it was over. For good.” 

Margo wants to tell him that it serves him right, that it’s all his fault and he’s getting what he deserves, but she looks at him and she can’t manage it. “I’m sorry, Q,” she says. “It’s for the best.” 

“I wish I wasn’t in love with Alice,” he says. 

“We all do,” she tells him. 

“He says we can still be friends.” 

“Yeah,” she says. “Well.” She stubs the cigarette out under her foot. 

“I’m not giving up. I’m still in love with him. And it’ll work out, one day. I swear it will. I’ll make it work.” 

Margo just shakes her head at him. “You have a lot to make up for,” she says. “A whole fucking lot.” 

“And I will. One day. If he lets me.” 

“If he fucking lets you.” Margo rounds on him. “Right now, you know what you can do? You can stow your fucking shit. Your friend needs you. I fucking need you. So get your head out of your twat and listen up.” 

Quentin nods slowly.

“Get me some fucking breakfast before I turn into a walking rib bone. Go home, make me something to eat, wake Todd up and make him clean up the Cottage. Get Alice to fix that fucking door. Then come back here and sit with Eliot for a while so I can get some sleep. Okay? Then we’ll figure out life from there.” 

Quentin nods again. “Okay.” 

“You want to be here? Fucking be here, Coldwater. That doesn’t mean wine and roses. It means throwing out the coke and bringing him a change of clothes. And telling Alice to fuck off if she complains.” 

“Okay,” Quentin says again. “Okay. I’ll be back with breakfast.” Margo turns to go back to Eliot. It’s going to be a long day. 

“Quentin?” a voice says. Jesus fucking tapdancing Christ, it’s fucking Alice, Margo thinks. Of all the goddamn times. “Is Eliot okay?” 

“He’ll fucking live,” Margo says. 

“That’s — that’s good,” Alice says. 

“Yeah.” 

“Um. Do you um, need anything?” she asks tentatively. 

“Quentin’s got it covered,” she says. “Right, Quentin?” 

“Yeah,” Quentin says. “Yeah. But if you could reverse-entropy that bathroom door, we’d be pretty grateful.” 

“I can do that,” Alice says quietly. 

“Thank you,” Margo says, and she means it. Quentin puts his arm around Alice and together, they start the long trudge back to the Cottage. Margo watches them for a minute. Then she turns herself, goes back to Eliot. She doesn’t want to leave him alone for long. She just prays, actually prays, if god or the universe is fucking listening, that he manages to stay clean now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, yeah, I know Penny can't technically take people with him when he travels at this point, but I needed a plot device, okay? In this AU, he learned it earlier. 
> 
> We all know Eliot doesn't manage to stay clean. So stay tuned for more on Eliot's drug abuse, which we know almost gets them killed in the Neitherlands. But also, if Quentin still has real emotions for Eliot, what does that say about the bottled up emotion magic? Hmmm ...

**Author's Note:**

> I'm presupposing that Eliot and Quentin had a thing before Quentin and Alice, which I think is pretty reasonable. I'm also presupposing that Margo would cover up for Eliot because she's his best friend — we know she doesn't want to confront him about it from comments she makes later in the show. And Eliot is a drug addict at this point, prone to making really stupid decisions and making really ugly scenes. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are love! Tell me what you think!


End file.
